


The World Turned Upside Down

by KayleeArafinwiel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28321890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/KayleeArafinwiel
Summary: Yule isn't going as smoothly in Aman as it ought...not even in the Halls of Mandos. Who knows what else might go wrong? (Or go right? It's me, after all.)
Relationships: Amarië/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Finwë/Indis (Tolkien), Finwë/Míriel Þerindë | Míriel Serindë
Kudos: 7
Collections: Screw Yule 2021





	The World Turned Upside Down

**Author's Note:**

> My Findaráto, as in Fiondilverse, is the apprentice of both Lords Námo and Irmo after he is reborn in Eldamar. There are many other references to Fiondil's Valar-verse in my works, but you don't necessarily need to know it to understand the stories. I do hope you enjoy, though.

For the Screw Yule prompts "quarantined at home" (well...in Mandos is rather quarantined), "It was up to [Name] to investigate how the accident had really happened." 

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was up to Lord Námo to investigate how the accident had really happened.

He had his suspicions, of course. It was surely a Finwion. The problem was always a Finwion. Unless the problem was a wife of Finwë, of course. His mien darkened as he stalked through the balsam-bedecked Halls, studiously ignoring the wreath of holly Yavanna had dropped around his neck. But when Lady Miriel had told his beloved that there was a disturbance within Mandos, a soul who should not be present weaving itself into her tapestry...

The candles flickered.

*Don't be such a killjoy, my love,* Vairë bespoke him. "Your charges don't need to be frightened on this day of all days.*

Námo rolled his amaranthine eyes. *Some of them deserve it. Who was it this time?* he replied, sweeping through his tapestried halls at a more sedate pace.

*Arafinwion,* Vairë replied unhelpfully. The Lord of Mandos snorted. 

*Which one?*

He was surprised when she directed him to the Hall of Mortals. What an Elf should be doing there...

Well, this Elf was perhaps expected. He entered the Mardi Firyaron, and found...

"What are you doing here, insolent Child?"

Findaráto stood up, bowing to the Lord of Mandos as the souls around him scattered. He had the presence of mind to set his lap harp down first, though a few interested fëar ran their fingers carefully over the strings.

"It's Yule, Master...and no one should be alone on Yule." Especially not my people, his thoughts resounded, coming clearly to the Lord of Mandos.

Námo smiled at his apprentice. His smile was only marginally warmer than the snows of the Helcaraxë. "I see. Did you think about asking permission, Findaráto? This is not your Hall, my son...and moreover, I do recall your being re-embodied."

Findaráto blushed. "It's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission," he mumbled, startling an extremely rare laugh from Námo. The Hall brightened with the sound of it.

"Make merry, my children," Námo said to the trembling mortal fëar. "For Yule it is indeed, and Findaráto is correct; no one should be alone on Yule." A negligent wave of his hand festooned the Hall with balsam and pine, and bright holly berries. All the fëar brightened, the Mortals thanking the Lord of Mandos for his solicitude. 

"However, I must borrow Findaráto for a time," the Vala continued. "For as it is Yule, he has family to greet. Mayhap he might return later."

"We understand, lord," said the nearest spirit, a Woman who Findaráto thought was probably of the line of Hador. "Thank you, and...happy Yule." She smiled, and the Vala and Elf returned her smile with their own before leaving the Mardi Firyaron.

Findaráto held his Master's hand as the Vala thought them into a portion of the Elven Halls that Findaráto had never seen before, even when he resided in Mandos himself. This Hall had none of the brightness of the Mardi Envinyanto that he knew, nor the playfulness of the Mardi Winiron where the souls of children resided.

It was utterly dark and cheerless. The only light came from the few fëar who resided here, and Findaráto felt chills as he recognized, among others, his half-uncle and some of his benighted cousins. His grandfather, too - the only one who could see them, for he alone was there by conscious choice. The rest had refused Judgement, lost even to themselves in terror and despair. Every soul save Finwë saw only themselves in this dread Hall. 

"This is the...Hall of Those Without Hope." He shuddered. "Will they ever be Reborn, Master?" Findaráto whispered.

"Perhaps, if hope they regain," was Námo's reply, spoken just as quietly though none of the fëar seemed to notice them at all. "But it is, after all, a day for hope and joy...and no one should be alone on Yule, not even these who walk in darkness."

"People of the Night," Findaráto murmured. The Vala nodded, and with a negligent gesture lit the Hall with candles, wreathing it in bright decorations. 

Finwë stirred, and for the first time in many centuries turned his face from the unseeing Fëanáro. 

"Anatar," Findaráto whispered. "Happy Yule."

"Happy Yule, inyonya," Finwë replied.

The two embraced, and Finwë, clasped in his grandson's arms, no longer felt quite so alone.


End file.
